


Metal

by arthurmarston



Series: One-shots [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Civil war didn’t happen, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Harm, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurmarston/pseuds/arthurmarston
Summary: Bucky hates his metal arm, and he’s convinced Steve does, too.AKA: Bucky tries to hurt himself, Steve intervenes, and things snowball from there.Also! Hi guys! I’ve been gone for a bit - works been super crazy and I’ve just not been able to sit down and actually put together a story. So this is my first piece that I’ve written in a few months - go easy on me! Haha. For those in the RDR2 fandom that are seeing this and are confused; no worries, I will be back soon! For those in the Stucky/Avengers fandom: hello! I’m not new here at all (think years...) but this is my first time posting to this fandom! So hi! I hope you all enjoy!





	Metal

Life hasn’t been so kind to Bucky Barnes. Every time something goes wrong, life proves that it can always get worse. He doesn’t quite get what he’s done to deserve it - why he’d been born in one timeline and reborn in another. Reborn over and over again; constantly going in and out of cryo chambers, forced beyond his will to carry out murders, tortured and belittled and abused til he’s wanted nothing more than death to finally take him away. But it never has. 

But this same cruel life has also given him Steve - and a second chance with Steve that seems like it shouldn’t even be possible. And that should be enough. And it almost is. Almost. 

He sees the way Steve looks at him now. 

His arm. 

The fucking metal arm. 

Steve hates it and Bucky knows it. He won’t say it but Steve won’t touch it. Hasn’t acknowledged it since they were reunited. Makes a point to never lay against it or hold the cold, robotic hand... doesn’t even touch it when they’re being intimate. 

Bucky hates the arm, too, but god, does he hate it even more because of Steve. 

He wishes he could rip it off. Destroy it. He’d rather be handicapped for the rest of his life than have the metal arm that Steve so obviously despises. 

Bucky doesn’t know when he started crying now - somewhere between locking himself in the bathroom with a kitchen knife and getting into the bathtub still dressed in the pair of briefs he’d just woke up in. It’s hard to say when the water blasting from the shower head started tasting like salt running over his lips, but he knows it now and wipes hastily at his eyes with the back of his flesh hand, careful to avoid cutting himself with the knife that’s held in it. 

He knows Steve is in bed still. Hopefully sleeping. Hopefully blissfully unaware. 

He’s trying to be as quick as possible, taking the knife right up to his metal arm and attempting to lodge it into the bicep, between where two of the plates meet. He presses it forward, wedging it in, the plates immediately whirring and recalibrating, deflecting the knife as if it’s made of rubber. He tries again. The arm doesn’t even flinch - not a scratch to the surface. Another tear falls out of frustration. Bucky stabs the knife in with much more pent-up fury, aiming a bit higher on the arm - near where it connects to his chest, in order to jam the blade directly into it. This only causes the arm to whir once more, the blade eventually slipping off the surface from the inescapable pressure coming both from Bucky’s hand on the handle and the immovable wall that is HYDRA’s metal pressed against inferior steel. 

He drops the knife into his lap to avoid stabbing into the wall beside him, a small sob escaping him. He slams his metal fist down against the marble platform surrounding the outside of the bathtub, hard enough to cause a break and imprint his fist accidentally - he cries harder because now he’s gone and made things worse. 

“Why won’t you fucking break!” He yells to himself, voice caught between a whisper and a hiss as he violently takes the blade and stabs it into the metal wrist now, attempting to slice into it vertically and disturb the wires and control panel underneath the surface. The god-awful whirring echoes back to him, taunting him, while the plates shift and absorb the shock of the knife. He can somewhat feel a burning in his nerves, but again, he’s left without a scratch. “Fuck!”

“Buck, you okay?” The sudden words are gentle, albeit stern enough that the anxiousness in the tone is obvious. 

It’s enough to freeze Bucky in his place, breath caught in his throat. 

Bucky doesn’t answer, only sinks himself further down into the bathtub, hoping that the roar of the shower running will deter Steve from asking again. 

“Buck.” 

This time there’s a few taps against the door, followed by a sigh that sounds so lost that Bucky can’t help frowning. His silent will is broken nearly instantly - always does when Steve is around. He can’t help himself. 

“I’m okay, Stevie. Just... taking a shower.” Bucky tries his best to sound convincing, as if he’s not currently holding the largest knife in their kitchen set in his flesh palm. Like he’s not currently sitting at the bottom of the bath tub with the shower head raining water down onto him from above, the drain open and swallowing it down before it can collect around him.

“It’s been an hour.” Steve says after a moment, and Bucky freezes when he can hear the door jiggling. Bucky didn’t even realize how long it had been. “You’ve locked it?” He sounds surprised. They don’t lock doors in their apartment. They have nothing to hide. 

“I wanna be alone, Stevie.” He says - unable to avoid the sadness that causes his throat to constrict his words towards the end of his sentence. 

“Bucky, we have 23 knives in our kitchen set and there’s only 22 in the drawer and I already emptied the dishwasher.” 

Bucky’s completely flabbergasted. Of course, leave it to Steve to be  _that_ observant. He glances down at the knife in his hand, grip on the handle tightening as the guilt sets in his gut. He’s holding it - Steve knows it’s missing. He’s unsure of what to even say. Number 23. He regrets ever telling Steve about his depression and the PTSD - about how he felt like ending his life previously, because now it’s all Steve worries about. He’s hyper-aware. Notices the smallest of changes, both bad and good. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m taking a shower and you’re asking me where a stupid knife is?” Bucky musters up as much annoyance as he can - maybe if he can make himself sound inconvenienced, Steve will leave him be. 

“Bucky, if you don’t open the door I’m going to break it down. I’m not playing around.” Steve isn’t so gentle now - Bucky can hear the anger - the raspiness to his tone that sends a shiver down his spine. “I’m giving you ten seconds.”

Bucky scrambles to his feet like a child about to meet the wrath of an angry mother, leaping out of the tub and rushing to hide the knife in the laundry hamper, tucking it in with a few of the used towels that sit at the bottom of it. His heart is racing. His eyes are filled to the brim with angry tears now. He turns off the water. 

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three...” 

Bucky opens the door, about to scream at Steve and accuse him of ruining his privacy, but the moment he sees Steve, puppy-dog eyes wide with concern and worry across his visage, the white-hot anger evaporates into embarrassment and shame. Cold, pathetic shame. 

“I...” He begins to say before Steve is grabbing his hand and walking them both back into the bathroom. He overpowers Bucky with ease, the Winter Soldier not fighting back at all as he’s pushed down into a sitting position atop the toilet seat cover. 

He’s dripping wet, long hair clinging to his face while Steve begins lifting his flesh arm up and examining it for any signs of harm. Bucky watches in silence as Steve meticulously analyzes his skin, searching. When he finds nothing - not even a scratch - on his arm, he then forces Bucky’s legs apart and feels up his thighs and then searches down his legs to his feet. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Bucky says, voice small, and there’s at least some truth to it. He’s not tried to cut himself in the way Steve has thought. “Stevie, why would I-“ 

Steve immediately pulls him into his arms, pressing Bucky’s wet face into his clothed stomach while his strong arms wrap around his shoulders and hold him still. Bucky can’t say exactly, but it feels as if Steve is ghosting over his metal shoulder instead of making contact with it. Bucky suddenly can’t find his voice, face red from the embarrassment and eyes stinging from the tears that are threatening to fall. He doesn’t know why these things happen. Why he’s this way. 

“I thought...” Steve trails off, stroking a hand through dark, wet hairs, his fingers carding through it soothingly. “... You...” He sounds broken and exhausted and it causes even more guilt to erupt in Bucky. 

“I’m okay.” Bucky mumbles as he nuzzles his face against the soft t-shirt, wishing he could so badly disappear. 

“Where is the knife?” Steve hasn’t let that go, now peeling them apart from one another to stare into Bucky’s eyes, baby blues wavering as they search Bucky’s own. 

He caves in. He can’t lie to Steve. “The hamper.” He admits, face dropping because he can’t take the scrutiny anymore. He gasps softly when Steve let’s him go, clamping his eyes shut as he listens to Steve rummaging through the hamper - seconds later, he’s holding knife number 23 and his shadow is once again looming over Bucky. 

“Why?” Steve asks, a brokenness to his voice that sends a shudder through Bucky’s body. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know why.”

“Yes, you do, Bucky. Tell me why.” Steve’s voice drips with authority and suddenly Bucky wishes Steve had never gotten injected with the serum. 

He fidgets with his hands - metal and flesh digits lacing together in attempts to fabricate a story. He can’t think of anything. His mind is blank. He feels like panicking. Feels the anxiety rising - a bubble in his chest cavity that’s expanding and making it harder to breathe. The pressure. So much pressure. 

“Bucky.” Steve demands, free hand reaching out to grab at his boyfriend’s chin, forcing his face to look up and make unwilling eye contact. “Tell me.” 

And then there’s a moment of sudden, confusing terror in Bucky from seeing Steve holding a knife in his direction and holding his chin and now he’s back at HYDRA’s labs being forced against his will. “Stop! Don’t touch me!” He yelps as he rips himself away from Steve, startling his boyfriend - the knife dropping with a clank to the tiles. 

“It’s okay - you’re okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I shouldn’t have been holding it still.” Steve attempts to ground him, Bucky cowering away at the flashes of raw memories - some fuzzy and redacted - others vibrant and ugly as ever. 

“You’re with Steve. You’re Bucky. You’re safe. We’re in an apartment in Manhattan. It’s okay.” Steve’s cooing the words, hoping to break through the trauma. 

The room spins. Steve’s still comforting him. 

Things slowly return to normal. 

“Tell me, baby. Tell me why you had that knife.” Steve begs now, voice soft as if he’s calming a spooked animal. 

Bucky wants to cry again. It seems easier than talking. Anything’s easier than disappointing Steve. He swallows the rock in his throat, voice finally returning. “My metal arm...” He begins but trails off with a wince when he sees Steve’s brows furrow together sharply. 

“Your metal arm?” He echoes, eyes now darting from Bucky’s face to HYDRA’s masterpiece that’s attached to him. 

“I wanted to cut it off. I... I knew it wouldn’twork... I don’t know why I-“ 

“Why the hell would you do that, Bucky?” Steve’s scolding him, now breaking away from the small bubble of space they’ve formed to search around the bathroom. He spots the impression of knuckles cracked into the marble stone that encases their bathtub and groans to himself. “I don’t understand why you’d-“

“Because you hate it, Stevie! I know you hate it! And it makes me hate myself and I want it gone!” Bucky pushes himself off the toilet seat with the arm, a bit harder than anticipated, and accidentally dents it in the process. He glances back, horrified with himself, and then rushes passed Steve like a bat out of hell. He can see the fear etched into Steve’s eyes - he’s a monster and Steve is seeing it all over again. 

“Bucky!” Steve yells back, frazzled, now grabbing at his boyfriend as he’s shoved aside. “You know that’s not true!”

Bucky’s momentarily stunned when Steve reaches out to grab his metal bicep in attempts to stop him, but fortunately for Bucky, it’s the one thing he has over Steve’s serum-induced strength. He breaks away effortlessly, plates humming as they tear away from Steve’s grasp. He runs for the door, nearly breaking the flimsy wood off its hinges as he swings it open, escaping into their attached bedroom. There’s a trail of wet footprints in his wake. 

Steve doesn’t give up so easily, however, and follows right behind him, trying and failing to stop Bucky in his tracks. He finally stops when Bucky snatches the journal off Steve’s bedside dresser, opening it and shuffling through the pages furiously. There’s a moment where Bucky swears he sees Steve flinch - as if he’d been anticipating Bucky ripping his art up. 

“What are you doing?” Steve’s question bellows out more like a demand than anything else, a furiousness in his eyes as he watches water drip from Bucky, forming a puddle on their hardwood floor. 

Bucky doesn’t respond, instead continuing to go through the pages and it doesn’t take him long to find it, now practically throwing the book at Steve, the man catching it against his chest with a look of pure confusion. “Look at it, Steve! Look!” Bucky is surprised he’s yelling - Steve appears to be, as well. 

“It’s a couple drawings of you,” Steve sayssoftly, eyes cast down as he studies the sketches he’s done of his boyfriend. They’re all from different days and moments - each one a unique memory. 

“Yeah, of me. Just me.” Bucky responds coldly, taking the few steps over to Steve in order to point to each sketch. “No arm. You forgot my metal arm, right? Or do you just pretend it’s not there?” Every single sketch is of Bucky without his left arm - as if the sketch was never finished. But it remains the same for each one. Hardly a coincidence. 

Suddenly Steve’s silenced. Bucky jabs his metal index against one of the sketches again, causing Steve to visibly flinch as the journal is nearly knocked from his hands. 

“If you don’t hate my metal arm, then why don’t you draw it, Steve? It’s not beautiful - right? Doesn’t belong in that sketchbook of yours, does it?” Bucky’s crying, he knows it, but he doesn’t care anymore. The tears fall freely while Steve continues to be rendered speechless. 

“I... Buck...” Steve starts to say as he looks down at his drawings, shaking his head in shame because he doesn’t quite have the excuse he’s hoped for. “It’s not... I never...” 

Bucky lifts his flesh hand to his eyes, wiping away at his tears with the back of his palm. “Speechless, Cap? Nothing to say?” He sneers, bottom lip trembling but words not faltering. 

“Bucky, I just... didn’t think you wanted to acknowledge your arm because of HYDRA. What they did to you... I thought I could make things better if I...” Steve’s usually always the one with the right words and for once he’s stumbling over nearly every syllable. It’s hard to even listen to. 

“...If you pretended it didn’t exist?” Bucky finishes for his boyfriend, turning away from Steve when the man nods quietly, his own eyes glassy with threatening tears. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” Steve’s voice is practically a whimper. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I always just... I thought you wanted to ignore it, Buck, I’m sorry...” 

Bucky doesn’t answer, sitting himself quietly at the edge of their shared bed, arms crossing over his chest, as if to hug and comfort himself. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him - feel them staring so intently that his heart’s racing. 

“I love everything about you. If I had known, I’d have never did what I did on purpose.” Steve murmurs, now closing his journal softly and walking towards the bed, wanting to reach out but resisting out of respect. Bucky looks like he’s cowering away and he’s not going to challenge that. 

“Have I always been like this?” Bucky asks softly, chewing on his lower lip as he continues to stare at the floor, watching beads of water run down his legs. 

Steve pouts and places his journal down at the corner of the bed. “Like what?” 

“This... this emotional. I don’t know.” Bucky sighs as he wipes again at his face, his cheeks red. 

Steve’s expression softens - he comes just a bit closer and then takes the seat beside Bucky now, on his left. “I... I don’t know. We were best friends, I know you remember that. But I always saw the strong Bucky. You always looked after me. The older we got, the more I looked up to you.” Steve admits quietly and it causes a swell in Bucky’s chest that he can’t quite explain. 

“I wish I could remember everything. Before this.” Bucky murmurs in reference to his arm, word’s thick and wet despite the lack of fresh tears. He still looks completely devastated and it breaks Steve’s heart. 

“You will, Buck. Doctor said everything will start coming back to you within the next few months. There’s a lot of brainwashing to flush out.” Steve attempts to say, sighing knowingly. “You haven’t had your mind wiped for almost two months and you’ve gotten back so many memories. There’s still so many more that’ll come to you. I know it.”

“But what if they don’t? What if I never remember my childhood? Our time together? What if I’m stuck like this?” Bucky swallows down a sob. It’s clear to Steve that there’s a lot more going on in his head than just the concern of his arm. 

“Then we can make new memories, Buck. Things will get better. I promise.” Steve’s gaze drops to the glimmering silver in front of him suddenly. “Can... can I touch it?” Steve dares now. If Bucky has been afraid he’s hated his arm this whole time, Steve wants to try and undo the damage he’s done. 

Bucky, of course, looks stunned. “What?” He responds, finally making eye contact again. Blue-grey eyes usually bright and glowing appear dull and pink from the irritation. Steve doesn’t say anything; won’t mention it. 

“Your arm. I’ve not touched it because I didn’t think you’d be okay with it. But... if you are okay with it, I’d like to.” Steve says cautiously, waiting until Bucky nods before slowly reaching out to touch at the metal wrist, feeling the coolness of it and swallowing hard. 

He makes eye contact with Bucky as he feels between each plate, finger pads dragging effortlessly across the smooth metal. “Can you feel that?” Steve asks, curious as he realizes for the first time that he doesn’t even know how Bucky’s arm works. He’s not asked. Not wondered. He feels terrible. 

“Y-Yes.” Bucky answers, sniffling quietly to himself as Steve’s hand trails up his arm, past his elbow, and then gently squeezes at his bicep. Steve’s touch is like electricity - he feels every drag of his finger pads - it’s emotionally overwhelming. He’s never had Steve touch his metal arm so gently. Hell, he’s never had  _anyone_ touch his metal arm so gently. 

The sudden whir of plates as they recalibrate from the grip shocks Steve and he immediately pulls his hand back in a startle. He blushes. “I’m sorry... I forgot it... it moves. Do you control that?” Steve mumbles, hesitating before he once again touches at Bucky’s bicep. 

Bucky smiles ever so faintly, seeing the look on Steve’s face as relief floods through him. “I don’t. It sort of just... maintains itself. It used to freak me out... but it’s been a long time.” 

A long time. A real, awful, horrifyingly long time. 

“And then, sometimes, my handlers would do maintenance-”

“Don’t call them that.” Steve cuts him off before the thought can escape, Bucky wincing. 

“I know...”

Steve nods, testing the waters as he slides his hand back to Bucky’s wrists, squeezing at it hard enough for the plates to react beneath his palm. He’s completely amazed. Even for someone who’s seen aliens and has fought alongside mythological gods, he’s still amazed by Bucky. But then again, even back during the war, Bucky always managed to captivate him completely and that was back when he still thought the television was the most amazing invention. 

“No one’s ever asked me anything good about my arm. Just... just the bad things... how many people I’ve killed with it... what I can do with it... never anything else.” Bucky’s quiet, suddenly turning to recoil into Steve’s side and hug onto him, beginning to get cold from only being in his wet briefs. He feels ridiculous but it doesn’t stop Steve from wrapping him tightly in his arms and pulling his boyfriend directly into his lap. “I feel like I’m meant for war and that’s all I got. A machine made to hurt and destroy.”

“You never deserved any of that.” Steve says, and it’s likely the millionth time he’s said it, but it never means any less than the first time. “You deserve to be treated with respect, Buck. You’re not a weapon.”

Bucky nods, admittedly ashamed. “I know. But it’s all I remember. I didn’t even have a name. Just the Asset. Nothing else. Treated like a brainwashed dog.” 

Steve’s quiet as he processes his boyfriend’s words. “Asset?” He looks confused and Bucky regrets mentioning it. 

Bucky sighs, hiding his face against the crook of Steve’s neck. “I thought that was my name for the longest time. Til you called me Bucky.” 

“You’re my Bucky. Nothing else.” Steve murmurs, giving Bucky a squeeze in his arms. He knows Bucky could very easily overpower him - throw him against the wall and choke him in cold blood with that metal arm; but right now it looks a lot more like he may crumble and fall apart in Steve’s arms, and so he holds him even tighter. As if to stop the cracks from splintering and shattering further. 

Bucky shivers in the grasp, pulling back from Steve’s neck. 

“Cold?” Steve asks lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to Bucky’s forehead. He can feel Bucky soaking his pajama pants and dampening his shirt, but it doesn’t stop him from clinging to his boyfriend. He rubs small, thoughtful circles into Bucky’s back, feeling the tight coils of muscles. 

“Freezing.” Bucky admits in reply, practically mewling as Steve caresses him. He lets his head rest against Steve’s broad shoulder now so that he can still see Steve’s face. The sharp jaw, the angular bridge of his nose... “I wish I could remember when you were smaller. When I was bigger than you.” 

“I wish you could, too.” Steve says as he tilts his head to rest against Bucky’s own, his eyes closing for a moment. “You always took care of me. After every fight I’d get myself into - you were there. You always cleaned me up. Always made me feel okay. You were my first... my first everything.” 

“When was our first kiss again?” Bucky asks now; it’s a distraction for him to stop thinking about what he was just doing in the bathroom. He knows the knife left somewhere on the tile floor will remind Steve - but for now, he’ll take it. 

Steve smiles sadly. It hurts Bucky knowing his forgetfulness makes Steve sad. He wishes he could remember everything - but all he has is Steve’s words and his time with HYDRA. And then bits and pieces in between of foggy memories that have slowly come back to him. He’s not hopeful for the rest, even if Steve is. 

“We were young... I’d got stood up by my date for the fall dance, we were still in high school, and you stayed home with me instead of going with yours, ‘cause ya said I was more important. You kissed me in my bedroom while my ma was working late.” Steve tells the story again - it’s not the first time he’s told it, Bucky knows, and each time he hears it, it feels a bit more familiar. At least, for now, he can nod and remember bits of the story. 

“What about the first time we did more?” Bucky hums out, arms carefully snaking around Steve’s neck, hands loosely hanging off his shoulders. 

“Depends on what you’re referring to. We started touching each other soon after that night. After school, my place or yours. Went on for years.” Steve smirks a bit, leaning forward to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. Bucky doesn’t look pleased with the answer.

“I meant... sex. The first time we had sex.” Bucky corrects himself, ignoring the sudden burn that’s rising on his cheeks. 

Steve sighs out, laughing. “Still the same one track mind nearly 70 years later.” He lifts a hand free from Bucky’s back to stroke back a few wild hairs that have begun to dry. “The first time we had sex...” He begins, laughing again when Bucky bites his lip in anticipation. “It was after we’d gotten back from HYDRA’s base in Austria. You remember that, right?” Steve interjects, hopeful, because that’s an entirely different story. 

Bucky nods. He can’t tell if that’s an honest nod or not, but Steve takes it for what it is and Bucky’s grateful. 

“Well, it was that night we returned to base. Couldn’t keep my hands off you. You made the most beautiful sounds.” Steve murmurs out, explanation modest, leaning in to press wet lips against Bucky’s neck that elicits a sigh from him. 

“Like what? What kind of sounds?” Bucky whines, a shiver running down his spine when he feels hands settling at his hips and finger tips pressing. 

“All kinds.” Steve whispers back, words trapped against Bucky’s neck. For a second, Bucky can feel warmth and saliva as his neck is lapped at, Steve’s tongue circling his pulse. And then he stops.

Bucky moans softly, as if pleading for more.

“Like that.” Steve smiles, licking at his lips. And for the first time ever, Steve takes Bucky’s metal hand into his own and  _holds_ it. 

Bucky goes mute. 

“Can you feel this?” Steve questions Bucky, and at first, Bucky’s confused - brows furrowing because Steve has just asked him this question. But then his metal hand is being guided down between them, to Steve’s pajama pants, and his metal hand is being gently molded by Steve’s to cup at the half-hard girth bulging from just in front of where Bucky is seated in his lap. Both their breaths hitch when Bucky’s hand curls - carefully - around the bulge. 

“I-I can...” Bucky replies back, tight coils of heat in his stomach - hot like his cheeks currently feel. His metal hand has never touched Steve like this before. Never. 

“What about this?” Steve is all breathy and playful as he lifts away Bucky’s hand and then brings a finger, cold and metallic, to his reddened lips. He parts them and Bucky gasps - index digit disappearing into the heat of his boyfriend’s mouth. The sensation is incredible - Bucky’s never even realized just how sensitive the metal arm is to delicate touches - but, in the end, the visual experience is what drives Bucky to groan and rock against Steve. What has him moving forward in the super soldier’s lap, pressing against that bulge with his own. The arm hums as plates shift and articulate in response. 

“Stevie,” Bucky sounds weak, pupils blown when Steve takes in his middle finger now as well - sucking on his fingers like they’re something else. Steve’s blue eyes are locked with Bucky’s own as he takes them further in, head bobbing with each suck. Bucky makes a point to curl his fingers in Steve’s mouth, hooking them along the back of his cheek while he feels Steve’s tongue massaging against them. 

Bucky moans out - can’t resist - and then Steve smirks and lets the fingers slip out, Bucky’s hand falling limply into his lap. 

“And like that.” Steve calls back to their previous discussion while Bucky feels his throat run dry from how badly he wants more. 

“Stevie.” He’s a broken record. 

“Can I push you back on the bed?” Steve asks for the usual permission, as he always does now that Bucky’s come back. In the beginning, the answers were usually no - almost always no - but these days have been better. Bucky doesn’t feel fear at being touched or being manhandled by Steve. He can place a distinction in his mind between Steve and the rest. 

Bucky is nodding before the sentence is even finished, groaning quietly when Steve follows through and lifts him, firm hands going to his ass to prop him up, and then turns to plop him down on his back on the mattress with a soft bounce. He’s immediately covered by Steve - he’s on top, sitting in Bucky’s lap, and Bucky is mewling, hands clasping at Steve’s thighs while his boyfriend slowly, teasingly removes his shirt. There’s the familiar jingle of dog tags when Steve gets his shirt over his head, Bucky’s tags catching in the fabric and then gently hitting back against Steve’s sternum, quietly settling there. He’s worn them everyday since Bucky’s been found and brought home. And maybe every day before that, too. Bucky’s never asked: his heart swells at the thought. 

“Do you love me?” Bucky asks - it’s a bad habit that he can’t stop himself from asking. But he can never feel too sure. Too safe. 

“I love you. More than words. More than life itself. I’d give everything for you, babydoll. Everything.” Steve’s become his protector; his safe haven. And again, part of him wishes things never changed, even then. That Steve was still small and that Steve could still fit in his arms so easily. But this Steve does too - just a bit more of a stretch. And this Steve is healthy and big and wipes away his tears and reminds him he’s loved and Bucky thinks that’s okay, too. 

“You’ll always love me?” Bucky whimpers when Steve bends down, ghosting his lips over his own. 

“I will always love you, punk. You’ll never stop being my Bucky.” And then their lips are crashing together and Bucky’s eyes are fluttering shut. The kiss is sweet and passionate and soft in all the ways that Bucky never wants to forget. Never wants it to stop. 

He can feel the smoothness of Steve’s clean-shaven face as they kiss, while Steve’s large hands start sliding up and down his sides - all his senses are on fire. He can feel everything and now Steve’s touching his metal arm and it feels euphoric. Maybe he should’ve just told Steve how he was feeling instead of doing what he did. Maybe it would’ve been easier. 

“Baby.” Steve says breathlessly as he breaks the kiss, Bucky whining softly at the loss of connection. He feels Steve shift to sit up, eyes going to Steve’s chest that’s reddened from the body contact. 

“Stevie?” He coos back the pet name, panting a bit. He remains quiet as Steve takes his metal hand and lifts it up to his chest, Steve pressing his palm flat over his heart. 

“This is what you do to me.” Steve murmurs out as he holds Bucky’s hand still, metal fingers slacking as the constant rumble of a heartbeat can be felt. The heavy pulse goes through his fingertips and practically rattles in his wrist. It’s amazing. 

“Your heart...” Bucky mumbles, lips parted in awe - the heartbeat is consistent and pounding. It doesn’t skip a beat. He knows, because he’s been told many times before, that Steve’s heartbeat isn’t normal. It’s faster and drums harder - it pumps more blood through his body faster than a regular human’s could ever. It’s enhanced. But it’s loud and it’s beautiful. Bucky knows his heart is the same way thanks to Dr. Zola - but he feels a lot less enthralled by it. 

“Can I make love to you?” Steve’s asking suddenly, noticing the glazed over expression on his boyfriend’s face - he’s caught in his own head. 

“Do you ever worry about the Winter Soldier coming back?” Bucky interjects as he lets his hand fall away from Steve’s chest. He’s serious. 

Steve smiles sadly. “Don’t worry about that now, Buck. That wouldn’t happen.” 

“All someone would need to do is say the words...” Bucky trails off, watching with a frown as Steve leans back down and in to silence him with a kiss. 

“I wouldn’t let anyone get close enough.” He sounds sincere. It’s enough to quiet Bucky. “Now, please, give me permission so I can rip those off and have my way with you.” Steve groans, a flashy, toothy grin on his face. 

Bucky’s face flushes. “Okay.” 

And then Steve’s all over him, handsy and grabbing at his thighs, hands scooping him up into the air just enough in order to drag his wet briefs down his legs, Bucky gasping in response. When Steve gets the briefs to his ankles, he pulls them off in one direction and flings them somewhere that neither of them bother to watch. 

Steve’s so good at this - so much better than Bucky will ever remember being. “Look at my beautiful boy.” He’s cooing and now Bucky feels like a melting puddle vanishing into the sheets. 

He has to resist a kick when Steve lifts his right leg in the air and starts gently kissing across the sole of his foot. His lips don’t linger too long - kisses immediately peppering up to the top of his toes and then upwards to his ankle, but it doesn’t stop the manic laughter that arises from Bucky at the sensation. 

“I’m ticklish, Steve, ah...” Bucky’s whining as Steve drags his wet lips slowly up Bucky’s right leg - he can feel his thighs trembling the higher Steve goes. And just when he thinks Steve’s going to touch him  _there_,  he nose dives back down to Bucky’s feet and picks up the left leg, giving it the same treatment, despite the protesting groans. 

“Patience, Sergeant Barnes.” Steve snickers, letting his teeth ever so slightly graze along the sensitive skin at Bucky’s calf.

Bucky groans louder now - purposefully. Like he’s trying to push buttons. “I want you to touch me, Stevie...” 

“Touch you where?” Steve’s playing dumb as bricks, blue eyes wide and wondering as he stops what he’s doing, lips shiny and red in a way that has Bucky’s mind rolling the dice and imagining every possible thing he wants to do with that mouth. 

“Stevie.” Bucky says, a childlike nature to his tone. He’s red with embarrassment. “You know where.”

“Say please.” Steve grumbles back, head bowing so that he can teasingly kiss and nip at the right inner thigh now. He then goes to pull apart Bucky’s legs so that he can lay himself down on his stomach between the space he’s created. Bucky’s cock has started to fill out, the tip reddened, and just the sight of it is enough to have Steve practically drooling. But he says nothing - does nothing - not until Bucky complies. 

“Stevie-“ Bucky tries again, voice pitched up in desperation. 

“Say it. Or I’ll just sit and stare at you.” His expression is straight-laced. Like he has all day. He does have all day. He’s that stubborn. 

Another whine later and Bucky gives in. “Please, Stevie. Sir. Please. Please. Oh god, please.” He pleads wantonly, metal hand reaching out to touch at the base of Steve’s neck, gently grazing his fingers through the hair there. 

Steve leans into the touch, smirking, and then turns his face just enough to press his lips to Bucky’s metal forearm. “Sir?” He echoes back, the metal arm humming from his touch. 

“Too much?” Bucky asks with a bite to his lip, voice caught in his throat. There’s a moment of panic - why did he say that? What is wrong with him?

But to his surprise, Steve’s shaking his head and still smirking. “No. I’ll take it. Has a nice ring to it.” He says and then bows his head, tongue running a wet line from Bucky’s trembling thigh up to the shaft of his cock, a hand coming up to grasp at it gently, holding it up as he glides his tongue down the prominent vein, nose nuzzling against it as he moves down. 

Bucky’s speechless, all worries abandoned as his head falls back so that he can stare up at the ceiling, chest heaving and stomach clenching. Steve’s mouth is so warm - so, so fucking warm - and then he feels Steve take one of his balls into his mouth, now sucking on it, and he swears he could die right then and there. 

“You taste so good.” Steve hums out as he let’s go, peppering kisses back up the side of Bucky’s shaft before pausing when he gets to the tip. He swirls his tongue along the slit, smirking when Bucky lifts his head back up, blue eyes wavering as they lock with Steve’s. He looks like a feral animal waiting for capture. 

“You  _feel_ so good.” Bucky replies coyly, fingers gripping the back of Steve’s head by his hair. A gasp leaves him as Steve takes him into his mouth, swallowing him down almost immediately. They’ve done this at least a handful of times since Bucky and him have gotten back together - and even then it still manages to feel like the greatest thing ever, every time. 

Steve knows exactly what he’s doing; knows everything Bucky likes. And he makes a point to prove that, head bobbing up and down as he continuously swallows around his erection, hands rubbing and caressing at the loose skin beneath to cradle his balls at the same time. He gags a bit, only sometimes, but each time he does, Bucky groans loudly. Animalistic. It’s worth the trouble. 

“Stevie, oh my god...” Bucky’s a panting mess, metal hand pushing down on Steve’s head, shoving him down further onto his cock. He arches his back and lifts his hips, thrusting into Steve’s mouth, a small smirk on his lips as his boyfriend shows no signs of complaint. “You’re so amazing...” He’s humming out the words, practically singing them, as he continues to thrust himself down Steve’s throat, Steve’s eyes never breaking eye contact. 

When Bucky’s hand lets up on his head, Steve eases off to the tip, taking in a few deep breaths. He can taste the saltiness from the precum that’s already begun leaking from Bucky’s cock, signaling that he may be getting close. Steve gives one more generous lick to the engorged head before he kisses it and then pulls off entirely, drool sliding down his chin. 

“Why’d you stop!” The words that leave Bucky aren’t even a question - they’re like a demand and they cause a low laugh to leave Steve.

“Because you’re not coming yet.” Steve says simply, using the back of his hand to wipe away the globs of saliva nearly dripping down his neck. “I know you. You come and then you wanna sleep. I’ve got more plans for you before that happens.” 

Bucky whines, reaching a hand out to touch at his cock, as if he’s going to finish the job himself, but he’s swatted away by Steve. 

“No.” Steve says, and it’s enough to have Bucky pause and drop his hands to his side like a well-behaved child. “Go get me the lube.” He orders and he has to resist a laugh at how quickly - and obediently - his boyfriend rises to his feet, swollen cock bobbing and dripping against his thighs as he crosses the bedroom to search their shared dresser. He retrieves the small tube like his life depends on it, crawling back onto the bed and then tossing it to Steve. 

“We’re gonna need more soon.” Bucky states absently, voice soft and gentle as he leans in for a kiss, Steve meeting him in the middle and then pushing him back down onto the bed. Bucky groans to himself as he savors the kiss - he can taste himself but it’s mixed with Steve and it causes more heat to pool in his lower abdomen. 

“We go through a lot, don’t we?” Steve smirks as he opens the top of the bottle and then pours a generous amount onto his fingers. He doesn’t even need to ask Bucky anymore; Bucky already knows and is spreading his legs and bending his knees up so that Steve can do what he pleases with him. The sight is enough to make Steve feel drunk; he can see how tight Bucky is without even having to touch him. Every single time is like the first time all over again. 

“Quit starin’ at my asshole.” Bucky laughs, teasing playfully as he kicks a leg out to tap Steve on the shoulder with his toes. He immediately retracts it, resuming his position. 

“Can’t. It’s so pretty.” Steve snickers, shaking his head. Bucky’s face heats up bright red at the comment - he doesn’t speak but the sheepish grin says everything. “And I bet you’re still so tight even though Daddy stretched ya out real good the night before.”

“Mhm.” Bucky mumbles back, words escaping him as Steve’s sentence burns into his mind. ‘ _ Daddy stretched ya out real good the night before _ ’ - he wants it on repeat over and over. 

Steve doesn’t mention it, but he always gets hung up on the healed, white welts that decorate the sensitive skin at the swell of Bucky’s ass, hidden between his thighs - they crisscross and vary in thickness and Steve knows exactly what they’re from... but he’s never asked. Never will. The thought disturbs him enough. 

“You gonna just keep lookin’ at it or ya gonna actually do something?” Bucky interrupts his thoughts after a few distracted moments with another fresh comment, brows furrowed as if trying to read Steve. He can tell Steve is looking at him for a reason. He probably sees the scars - the scars that were bad enough to never fully heal, despite the serum. Probably wants to ask. Bucky will tell him one day. Maybe. 

Steve blushes, laughing, and Bucky sighs at the beauty of it. “Hush, hush. I’m sorry. No more staring.” He swears, now leaning in to let a slick finger slip between Bucky’s legs, finding the tight ring of muscles and then circling his finger pad around it. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just watches, waiting. He’s holding his breath and Steve can tell.

Steve smiles, chewing on his lip as he carefully presses the single digit in, the lube allowing it to slip in rather effortlessly. He gets about halfway to the knuckle before he pulls back, Bucky gasps now, and then he pushes it back in again. 

“Oh,” Bucky groans, head lolling to one side at the intrusion, toes curling against the sheets when he feels Steve’s middle finger thrust completely inside of him. “More, Stevie. Let’s go.” He breathes out, daring to shift his hips and attempt to press himself further around Steve’s finger. 

“Easy, doll.” Steve responds with a shake of his head, fucking his finger into Bucky a few times for good measure before he finally adds in a second digit, to both his and Bucky’s delight. 

Bucky relishes in the not-so foreign tightness - the way Steve feels inside him - the way his eyes cloud over with lust the moment he begins to curl those fingers up against his sweet spot. He finds it easily; Bucky wails immediately. 

“Baby...” Bucky cries out softly, rocking his body against the two digits curled up against his prostate. He could get off just like this, but he knows Steve won’t let it happen. He’s trying not to think about it, but his cock is achingly sore already. 

“One more and then you’ll be good to go.” Steve hums out, smirking as he reaches for the bottle of lube again, adding another small droplet to the mix just as he slips in a third finger, all three slipping in instantly. 

“I’m fuckin’ good now, though, Stevie, shit,” Bucky argues back, head falling to the mattress while he arches his back off the bed to feel even more. Steve teases him, scissoring the three fingers around inside of him in a way that nearly makes Bucky’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He can barely focus. “Fuck... fuck...” 

“Shhh.” Steve replies quietly, “someone’s very vocal this morning, huh?” The words are taunting, Bucky narrows his eyes as he forces his head off the mattress to make eye contact with his boyfriend. “Gonna scream for me, baby?”

“Yes, Stevie. Yes.” Bucky answers without hesitation - at this point, he knows his dick is doing the talking - he’d do anything for Steve to give him his release. “Please fuck me. Daddy, please, Sir. I’ve been so good. C’mon.” 

“Dirty mouth.” Steve says nonchalantly and it causes Bucky to kick a heel into the bed. 

“Please get naked already. I’m going to die if I don’t orgasm.” 

A loud laugh erupts from Steve. “So dramatic, baby.” He coos, but he listens - Bucky watching as Steve momentarily gets off the bed so that he can drag his pajama pants down. They’re still wet from Bucky’s bathroom episode and Bucky swears they may also be a little wet from the obvious arousal dripping from Steve’s now  _very_ visible erection. He’s got no underwear on; not much of a shocker. 

“Shit, Steve...” Bucky says as he drinks in the sight of his boyfriend’s perfect cock. “If you weren’t gonna fuck me right now, I’d be begging you to choke me with it.” 

“I’ll have to save that offer for another time. Say, later today?” Steve snickers, a hand coming to wrap around his shaft and give himself a few, slow strokes - his fingers go from base to tip, Bucky’s eyes watching every move.

“Maybe.” Bucky answers, now licking at his lips obviously - knowing Steve is the kind of man that likes to know he’s being watched, Bucky plays it up whenever he can. He shifts to sit up onto his elbows. “How do you want me?” 

“On your back, just like that. So I can see that pretty face when I shove my cock into that tight little hole of yours.” Steve replies cooly, now climbing back onto the bed on his knees and grabbing the bottle of lube. 

If only the rest of the Avengers could hear how filthy Steve could be. In the public eye, he was the definition of a saint... with Bucky? Not so much. 

Steve pours a generous amount over himself, using his hand to glide it evenly over his erection, hissing quietly to himself at the pleasure that surfaces. 

Bucky is wide-eyed, jaw slack as he admires Steve. The words... the way he’s touching himself... it’s all so overwhelming for him. Does things to his body that he doesn’t even fully understand. 

And then suddenly, Steve is between his legs, manhandling him wide apart at his thighs and ravaging him - kissing roughly along Bucky’s jaw and then down his chest, their cocks rubbing together almost painfully. Bucky immediately wraps his shaking legs around Steve’s slender waist, gasping out and moaning with each kiss and nip to his skin. He clings onto Steve for dear life, nearly shouting when his boyfriend takes both of their cocks into his one hand and rubs them together, the lube making the heads glide together harmoniously. 

“Please...” Bucky whimpers, metal hand gripping at Steve’s shoulder and pulling him down in order to whisper in his ear. He startles Steve by how powerful his grip is - has to resist a laugh - and then moans playfully to him. “Fuck me, Stevie. Need you so bad...”

“You got me, Buck.” The words are a promise that Bucky believes. Steve shifts to sit up, just enough to move himself and line his cock up with Bucky’s entrance, holding himself there. They’re both tense for a moment, eyes locked. “You got me.” He echoes as his swollen, slick head presses up against the tight muscles until they forgo resisting and the tip slips in. 

“Fuck!” Bucky yelps out, metal hand clinging desperately at Steve’s back while his flesh hand’s nails dig in at Steve’s right shoulder. 

Steve feels like the air has been punched out of him from how tight and hot his boyfriend is - it’s indescribable. He presses his hips downward, forcing Bucky’s thighs further apart, Bucky’s crossed ankles fighting to stay connected at Steve’s lower back. Slowly, Steve slips deeper into Bucky - inch by inch until he sinks in about halfway. He pauses to breathe. “Good?” He asks, voice raspy. 

“Good.” Bucky affirms, clawing marks deep and bloody into Steve’s shoulder. The pressure inside of him from the stretching has him feeling like a wound up rubber band ready to snap at any moment - Steve’s cock fills him up to the point of overwhelm. It’s enthralling. 

“Easy, Buck. Relax...” Steve coos to him as he slowly shifts forward, moaning out as another few inches slip inside of Bucky. It’s only another moment before he bottoms out, pubic bone sitting flat against Bucky’s ass, the two of them groaning and clinging to one and other. 

Bucky swears that Steve is in his stomach - cock pulsing deep inside of him and filling him to the point that Bucky’s breathing feels shallow. “You’re so big...” He whines, “so, so big...” 

“Mm, and you’re so tight. Fit so beautifully around my dick, don’t you, baby?” Steve’s smirking as he leans down, peppering kisses along Bucky’s jaw. He then slowly begins to lift his hips, slipping his erection out about halfway before he glides right back in, feeling Bucky’s muscles involuntarily clench around him. 

“Yes, Stevie, yes.” Bucky moans out desperately, not even caring that they may or may not be loud enough for the neighboring apartments to hear. 

“Who owns you, hm? Who do you belong to?” Steve asks in response, now beginning to set a pace that’s faster and a little bit rougher, too. He’s thrusting in and out of Bucky much easier - each stroke following up with another that’s harder and more intense. 

“You,” Bucky cries out in between thrusts, “you, you, you...” Each word is broken up with gasps and sobs of pleasure as Steve hooks into him, erection grinding up against his prostate with each thrust now - each time feeling like a spark of electricity through his nerve endings. He feels raw, hands falling away from Steve to fall flat to the bed, fingers gripping intensely at the sheets for support. He feels as if he’ll sink into the bed and disappear. 

And then Steve sits up, just enough to reach an extended arm out and wrap a hand around Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s face is completely blissed out, eyes blown wide, and practically going wider when Steve begins to squeeze at his neck ever so slightly. Steve holds him there, uses him for stability as he pounds into Bucky now, chasing his own orgasm; desperate to reach his peak. 

“St-Steve!” Bucky cries out as Steve ruthlessly takes him - each thrust is harder and deeper than the last, tears welling up in Bucky’s eyes from how intense the pleasure is. He’s barely even able to focus on anything other than the ceiling fan. The bed is rocking beneath them and beginning to hit the wall behind the headboard. 

Steve smirks at the way Bucky is unwinding beneath him, becoming a collection of sputtered moans and pants in a way that’s only meant for Steve. He reaches his free hand between their bodies now, wrapping a firm grip around his boyfriend’s cock and jerking him in time with his thrusts. Bucky immediately whines, his vocal chords vibrating beneath Steve’s hand, Adam’s apple jerking under his palm. 

“Fuck.” Is all Bucky can muster out, faint but he knows Steve hears him well. Every stroke to his erection, coupled with the curved hits against his prostate, is like the sweetest form of torture. He never wants it to stop. 

“Gettin’ close, Buck...” Steve warns as he fucks into his boyfriend as if it’s the last time they’ll ever see each other. The two of them are both dripping in sweat, Bucky’s long hair practically glued to his forehead and cheeks while Steve continuously rocks into him, plunging himself as deep and hard as he can. Like his life depends on it. He’s right on the edge, face twisted from the intensity of it, hand gripping just a bit harder now on Bucky’s throat. 

Just as Steve feels himself about to climax, he releases Bucky’s throat and erection and begins to slip out, only to be stopped by Bucky clawing and gripping at his forearms to hold him still. “Stevie-“ He begins breathlessly, as if pleading. 

“Buck, I’m too close - I’m not gonna be able to-“

“Don’t.” Bucky begs now, clenching his walls tightly around Steve’s girth, heels digging into Steve’s back. “Come in me. Please. I want it so bad. I wanna feel you. Don’t wanna do it like that no more...” 

Steve’s eyes are wide with surprise. He swears he’s hearing things. “Are you sure?” He asks, conflicted as he struggles to hold himself together, but then Bucky nods and smiles and suddenly all bets are off and he’s coming hard - the air escaping him as his orgasm overtakes him and he feels himself come deep inside of Bucky for the first time ever. 

“Steve!” Bucky cries out now as he finally feels his boyfriend’s warmth filling him in all the ways he’s only thought about for so long now. The feeling is ethereal; he feels full and perfect and like he is absolutely owned. He adores it and clings tighter to Steve, holding him right there until the high of the sensation begins to subside. 

“God damn,” Steve gasps out, shuttering as the tingling in his body slowly dies down, just enough for him to adjust and once again take Bucky, now dripping practically, back into his hand and start on getting him off. He’s not dared to slip out yet, holding himself firmly inside of Bucky while he pumps him fast and hard. “Gonna come for me now, baby?” Is all he asks, and it’s nearly all it takes for Bucky to follow him right over the edge. 

Bucky’s orgasm is just as much a sensory overload as Steve’s is, vision going blotchy and face knotting up from the pleasure as it soars through him. He feels himself let go, spurts of warm release painting across both his stomach and Steve’s. He doesn’t know how much time passes. It can’t be that long. It feels like forever. Eventually, he’s able to take in a gulp of air and he feels himself go absolutely limp. 

Steve is smiling when Bucky’s eyes refocus. Smiling with a taunting glimmer in his blue eyes. He finally backs out of Bucky, sliding out easily, though the two both sigh at the loss of connection. 

“You’re never pulling out again.” Bucky groans softly, back arching slightly off the bed when he feels the slow, hot drip between his thighs now. They’d only done it that way for so long because of Bucky’s own previous fears. 

“Whatever you want.” Steve laughs, amused. He can see the faintest bruising forming along Bucky’s throat - they’ll be gone within hours. He doesn’t worry. Just like he knows the bloody scratches along his own back will fade by night. But then he notices the small scuffs and cracks along the back of their bedroom wall, from where the bed’s headboard had hit against it. That definitely  _won’t_ heal on its own. 

“Well... instead of sleeping,  _thank you very much for assuming_ , I actually want breakfast. Does that count for whatever I want?” Bucky asks with a lopsided smile. He reaches a free hand out to touch along Steve’s face, caressing at his cheek. “And a shower. We should shower, too.” And then his face falls when he realizes he’s gone and reminded them both of the bathroom incident. 

Steve’s expression immediately softens to concern. “We can shower.” He murmurs as he crawls off Bucky, sitting along the edge of the bed. Bucky copies and sits up, groaning at the obvious soreness radiating between his legs along with the come now seeping onto the sheets. Maybe they should use a towel next time? 

“You’re not mad at me?” Bucky mumbles, awkwardly. 

“Mad?” Steve echoes, shaking his head. “Never mad. Always worried.” He sighs, hand clasping at Bucky’s metal arm, rubbing small circles into his forearm. 

“Can you put the knife away? I’ll clean up everything else...” Bucky says as his eyes dart down to his arm, watching the way Steve is touching him. So gently. So sincerely. The arm whirs in response. 

Steve smiles and then leans in to press a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. His lips are warm. “Of course. And then you’ll promise me you’ll try to talk to me more about these things instead of trying to solve them yourself?”

Bucky nods. “I promise.” 

The words are sincere. He means them this time. He’ll get better, he hopes. But in the mean time, he has Steve to help. And that’ll be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this piece! If you did, I’d love to hear any comments and feedback! Kudos are also very appreciated. I know this is a big fandom, so any love is good love hehe.


End file.
